


Cold Comfort

by 2x2



Category: Firefly, Serenity (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-13
Updated: 2016-01-13
Packaged: 2018-05-13 18:26:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5712571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2x2/pseuds/2x2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inara is sick and Mal goes to check on her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold Comfort

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Agent_Rouka](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Agent_Rouka).



> Originally posted to LiveJournal on March 19, 2007.
> 
> A sequel of sorts to The Worst Medicine
> 
> * * *

Balancing the tray of soup in one hand, Mal opened the shuttle door and knocked softly. He stepped inside, listening for a reprimand, but heard only silence. The room, softly lit under normal circumstances, was almost completely dark except for the small, warm flicker coming from a lantern near the bed.

Inara sneezed violently, groaning pitifully, eyes puffy and red.

"Still feelin' bad, huh?" Mal said and she glared at him.

“This is your fault, you know,” Inara said, her voice slightly nasal.

He blinked, surprised that she would so openly reference what had happened a few days earlier in his bunk. “Yeah, conjure that’s so,” he said, apologetically. He cleared his throat roughly. “About that—”

She groaned again, a frustrated sound. "What do you want? Is there some particular reason you've barged in here this time?"

"Actually, I knocked," he said, sitting on the edge of the bed beside her carefully.

She sniffed loudly and wiped at her nose with a tissue miserably. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"Brought ya some soup," he offered, holding up the tray to show her.

"I'm not hungry," she said petulantly, and Mal had to bite back a grin. Of all the things he'd come to expect from Inara, pouting wasn't one of them.

"I made this special for ya, an' ya ain't even gonna eat none?"

"Mal…" she whined as he helped her to sit

"C'mon, just a little," he coaxed, bringing the spoon to her lips.

She accepted the liquid with a grimace, turning her head as she forced it down, pushing the hand with another spoonful of soup away. "I can't," she said, fighting the urge to bring it back up.

"Simon says you gotta eat—"

"Mal, please… I can't, not right now," she begged and he acquiesced finally, unable to bring himself to push her. He set the soup down and brought his hand up to her forehead, frowning at the heat emanating from her skin. Eyes closing, she gave a soft sigh and pressed against his palm. Remembering how good hers had felt against him when he'd been sick, he let his hand smooth over her skin, down her cheek, pausing when he reached her neck and he felt her shiver.

"Cold?" he asked softly.

She nodded jerkily. "Chills," she mumbled. "Can't get warm."

Mal shifted beside her, turning so he could pull her to his chest, his arms going around her lightly as he tucked her head under his chin.

She came with little resistance, the feel of him warm and solid beneath her cheek outweighing her better judgment and she sighed against him.

"Better?" he whispered into her hair and she nodded. He ran a hand up and down her arm, trying to work some warmth into her fevered skin, swallowing roughly as she snuggled into him, suddenly highly aware of every inch of her body against his. Hand faltering, he let it still on her shoulder, lips parting as he concentrated on keeping his breathing even and controlled. Closing his eyes, he gave in to the moment, hand creeping up to her hair to stroke softly, every fiber of his being focused on her; on every minute shift of her head on his chest and the resulting tickle of her hair on his chin; every rise and fall of her breast as she breathed; every exhalation that heated his skin through his shirt…

"Mal?" she whispered suddenly, startling his eyes open.

"Yeah?" he said, the word almost strangled as he fought to sound normal.

"Don't take this the wrong way," she said sternly, sounding like her regular self for a moment. He held his breath, waiting for the expected reprimand, blinking in surprise when her voice lost its strength and she continued with a plea. "…can we please lie down?"

He hesitated. Holding her in his arms was already enough to make it hard for him to think straight. Lyin' down with her… "I, uh… I ought to let you sleep—"

"No," she sighed, cutting him off as she wrapped her fingers around his shirt. "You're warm," she said, as though that explained everything.

Well. What sort of argument was there against that? Surrendering, he swung his legs up onto the bed, careful of his boots on her fine sheets, and eased himself onto his back, head coming to rest in the soft pile of her pillows. _Feather down_ , he thought vaguely as Inara curled into the crook of his arm, her face pressing into the curve at his neck. He swallowed.

He was of two minds being there. Lying there like that with her in his arms was about the closest to heaven he expected he'd ever get. On the other hand, of all the places he never thought he'd be, lying with her, in *this* bed, was damn near the top of his list. Made him a might uncomfortable, truth be told, considering what it was she did in it.

He felt her breath against him as she sighed, reading him now just as easily as she always did. "They're fresh sheets, Mal," she said in a voice that would have sounded exasperated were she not so tired.

"Never thought otherwise," he lied, feeling slightly chagrined as he cleared his throat with a cough.

Inara laughed softly, not fooled for a moment. "Liar," she whispered and Mal couldn't help the grin that tugged at his lips. He tightened his arm around her, turning his head slightly so that his cheek rested against her forehead, his brow creasing at the heat he felt from her skin.

"'M sorry for… 'you know'… an' makin' ya sick," he said softly.

She gave another soft laugh. "'S my own fault," she said into his neck sleepily. "For… letting you kiss me when you were sick." She was quiet a moment and then he felt her lips curve into a smile against his adam's apple. "I liked it, you know," she whispered, "you kissing me."

"Yeah?" he asked, a slow smile spreading over his lips. "'Kinda thought you did," he said, nodding. "Made yourself stop, but I had an' inklin' it weren't all bad on your end."

She chuckled, breath warm against his skin. "No. Not all bad."

"So, why did you?" he asked after a moment.

"Like it?"

"Stop," he clarified.

She sighed. "Because I can't do that with you, Mal."

"Said that before," he said. "Still don't really answer the question."

"I know," she breathed.

She didn't seem inclined to say anything else, and Mal didn't know what to say to that either, so he just held her, listening to her breaths as they leveled off, feeling the tug of sleep drawing him down as well.

And if she was aware of the brush of his lips against her forehead as they drifted off in the comfort of each other's arms, she chose not to scold him for it.


End file.
